


press rewind

by thedevilbites



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: AU kind of, Age kink??, Coming of Age, F/M, Fear, He's so creepy and scary but it WORKS, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Older Man/Younger Woman, Referenced killing kink because Roman be like that, Roman's eye keeps twitching, Sexual Tension, does he have a tic or something? idk i'm just going by the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26099905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilbites/pseuds/thedevilbites
Summary: He gives her a cold smile, then shakes her hands away. They crumble numbly against her body like severed limbs.
Relationships: Black Mask/Black Canary, Dinah Lance/Roman Sionis
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	press rewind

**Author's Note:**

> AU kind of. set after and before the movie. 
> 
> black canary's age is in bold ;)

**22**

She sits in the car while he drums his fingers against the window. It’s a random pattern, some vaguely familiar beat she should recognize, but doesn’t. 

The minutes roll by. He taps faster. Bobs his head. Hums, faintly. 

Dinah peers at him through the rear view mirror. He doesn’t make eye contact. Instead, pointedly stares out the window. Picks at his manicured fingers. Inspects the car floor with adamant interest. He’s—shifting. _Transmuting._ Like he can’t sit still, or, he _can,_ but he _refuses_ to and he refuses to say anything, either, and it’s—

Extremely odd. Uncharacteristic. Sublimely _off-kilter._

It’s almost more threatening this way. 

She swallows as quietly as she can. Stretches her legs carefully. Her knee cracks. It echoes in the silence. Replays and replays and replays, on loop in her head. _Crack crack. Crackity crack. Crack._ She freezes, petrified. 

The tapping stops. 

Roman’s eyes meet hers in the mirror. He’s not smiling. She doesn’t even think he’s _breathing._

Everything fuzzes out around the edges, and her mouth goes dry. Maybe she’s still drunk. She feels blurry and warm. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, trying not to squint. Or wipe her eyes. Or move, in any capacity.

Roman’s eyes glass over, and his head rolls lazily to the side. “What are you sorry for, birdie?” He’s slurring, slightly. Like he’s in a trance. It makes her shudder. 

Her skin _tingles._

She drops her gaze, and pulls out of the parking lot.

**6**

He finds her two weeks after her parents dump her on the sidewalk, crouching under the red-and-white striped overhang of some nameless supermarket. 

She’s young. Baby-faced. All round and shiny, with soft tufts of hair that refused to be smoothed down flat on the crown of her head like she’s a newborn chick.

The wind pinches steadily at her bare arms. Someone drops a quarter in the tin can she keeps beside her. She looks up, and her _thank you, sir_ refuses to leave her lips. 

Roman looked the same back then. Pink, tacky suit. Green-tinted Chanel sunglasses. Hair smoothed back with way too much gel. He grins down at her, or she thinks he does, if the little divot in his lips is anything to go by.

A customer leaves the supermarket. Bells jingle merrily as the door closes. She doesn’t stop staring. 

Her stomach growls. He turns smoothly on his heel, and leaves. She deflates back into the pavement.

Ten minutes later, he comes back with a sandwich, and a slightly warm bottle of coke.

She eats fast. Almost chokes on the sandwich wrapper, and, because she didn’t really have a sense of fear, at least not back then, tips her head up and asks, “Are you going to be my new daddy?”

Roman sinks smoothly down onto his haunches, and gives her a measured look. He raises an eyebrow at her. She takes a deep breath. Looks at the now-empty bottle of coke. 

Then she stares back carefully. 

His eye twitches, and he gives her that half-smile again. “Not your daddy,” he sing-songs, “but something close.”

She doesn’t really understand the difference. He doesn’t explain.

He buys her another sandwich instead.

When his car pulls up, she follows him. 

**9**

“You didn’t tell me you can sing, kid.”

She pauses over a mouthful of cereal, and the spoon slips carelessly through her fingers. It makes a loud _clang_ as it hits the bowl, and chips off a piece of the rim. It’s from China, restored from the 16th century. 

His eyes flit to the bowl, then back at her again. 

“I’m sorry,” she bleats, eyes wide.

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves a hand idly at her, skipping over to her end of the table. He slinks into the chair next to her, leans in, fingers casually skimming over her knuckles.

He’s humming. Half-humming. Mumbling, almost. He does that a lot. 

“You’re going to sing for me,” he says, voice clear and crisp. And he seems buoyant, too. Calm. Care-free. 

She’s _horrified._

“I don’t want to.”

Roman sighs heavily, leans back in his chair. It takes her a couple seconds to realize he’s staring at her throat, as if he’s inspecting the slick fleshy inside of her trachea. 

She tries again. “Roman?”

“Mm?” 

She swallows. His head bobs in time with the movement.

“Don’t make me do this.” 

“You will.” He doesn’t even sound _present._ Like he’s light years away, head in the clouds.

She wants to—contradict him. Say something. _Anything._

Instead, Dinah picks up her spoon. The cereal is soggy, and melds to the roof of her mouth.

It tastes like eating ash. 

**20**

“What are you doing?” She whimpers, clawing at his jacket helplessly as he climbs on top of her. He’s wearing his favorite white suit. It nips at her skin, scratches her bare stomach as he settles over her. He’s _warm._ She can feel him through the fabric.

 _“Roman,”_ she sounds panicked, delirious, “what are you—“

“Hey, hey, everything’s okay,” he shushes her, voice soft and lilting, brushes a smooth finger over her cracked lips, and she jolts underneath him. 

Her hands are still wound deep in his suit jacket, hanging limp from his body like puppet strings. Like valuable organs. The expansive small intestine, unraveling in her arms. _As_ her arms. 

Roman’s eye twitches. She stares up at him. He’s too high on her chest, and she’s having trouble breathing. 

He gives her a cold smile, then shakes her hands away. They crumble numbly against her body like severed limbs. 

He smooths a hand over her waist, fingers tip-toeing lower, eyes trained on her face. Her whole body spasms, like she’s been shocked. Her thighs tremble, and she can’t help but buck against him. Slowly. _Softly._

A positively incremental movement.

He notices. Of course he does. He splays a hand against her thigh, wiggles his fingers knowingly.

“I don’t want this,” Dinah whispers, turns her head away from him. Squeezes her eyes shut.

You’re so very lucky,” he coos, choosing to ignore her, “that I didn’t sew that pretty little mouth of yours _shut.”_

“Please—“

 _“Shut up.”_

She nods obediently on instinct, stiff, frantic jerks of her head. Anything to soothe him. _Placate._ Diffuse the situation. 

There’s a spot of blood on his tie. 

He’s most volatile when he’s like this. Fresh from a kill. All jazzed-up and bristling and _electrified_. 

His eyes are smooth and glazed over. She wonders what Roman’s seeing, _who_ he’s seeing underneath him right now because it definitely isn’t her. At least, not _this_ version of her. 

Roman skates a finger underneath the band of her underwear, and her mind goes perfectly, studiously blank. It’s _atrocious._

Her eyes roll to the back of her head. She doesn’t know what to think. 

Just lies there while he skims his nails over her clit, teeth clamped onto her gums to stifle her moans.

**Author's Note:**

> birds of prey was so good! and the tension between canary and roman was so overt aaaaa i cantttt!!
> 
> @thedevilbites on tumblr, come say hello!


End file.
